


Today, Tomorrow, Someday

by avianbrother



Series: What We Want, What We Deserve [3]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Breeding Kink, Canon-Typical Violence, Devil Trigger (Devil May Cry), Devil Trigger Sex (Devil May Cry), F/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Behavior, Romance, Scent Kink, Teratophilia, Vaginal Sex, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:54:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28641054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avianbrother/pseuds/avianbrother
Summary: Things are going smoothly, but Dante knows it's only a matter of time before you're exposed to the darkness of devil hunting, and who he truly is. All he can do is prepare you for it...and hope he's ready too.
Relationships: Dante (Devil May Cry)/Reader
Series: What We Want, What We Deserve [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2012884
Comments: 14
Kudos: 164





	Today, Tomorrow, Someday

**Author's Note:**

> This series is going to venture further and further into monster fucker territory, so I hope you're all hyped for that and some emotional vulnerability from our favorite himbo

Dante never liked thinking about the future. With everything he’d been through, he stopped caring about the tomorrows and tried his best to drown out yesterdays. His life had become a steady cycle of wash, rinse, repeat, and he figured it would stay like that til he eventually withered and died, or some demon finally got the better of him.

But then that first date at the pizza place turned into second and third dates, and next thing he knew you’d become a regular fixture in his life within the span of a few months—the two of you spending nights shooting pool, sitting on the couch with drinks watching bad movies, and fucking like rabbits. It got him thinking about the future, about you and him and eventualities. Someday he’ll have to tell you about his demon blood, his family, and all the other ugly, tangled, messy parts of his life. For now, he lets that stew in the back of his mind, focusing on enjoying what he has in the present.

Turns out “someday” is four months into you dating. He comes home soaked in blood, the hole in his chest from where a Death Scissors shish-kebabbed him still tender. He’s got a fat check in his pocket and, all things considered, it’s really just another Tuesday for him. Nothing a shower and a beer can’t fix. Until he comes in the door and you’re standing there with takeout boxes that get splattered all over the floor when you see him. He remembers the sight of you, wide-eyed and afraid. You rush towards him, a million panicked questions streaming out as you touch the blood that’s soaked into his clothes, checking for wounds.

It takes a second for him to realize you’re not afraid _of_ him—you’re afraid _for_ him. Something about that line of thought does something to him, and he stands there stunned as you grow more and more shaky and tears form in your eyes. Then he snaps back to reality and takes your hands, gently leads you to the couch and sits down with you. There’s a lot to talk about.

You take it pretty well, better than he thought you would. You knew what he did, just never saw the aftermath, never knew the kind of punishment he could take and still get back up again. He doesn’t tell you everything—there’s too much to unpack in one night but he promises to tell you more when the time is right. There’s an anger that boils up inside you though when he talks about the job and fighting the Scissors, something mean and vengeful and feral that glints in your eyes as you glance at his wounds, like you’d kill them yourself for touching him.

He doesn’t mention it, but damn if he doesn’t think about it all the time.

***

Weeks pass. You seem to get used to the craziness that is his normal, and on quiet days he tells you more about his life, the parts that aren’t still too raw or dark. You take it in stride. It’s then that he decides you’re ready for a few lessons in self-defense.

Dante isn’t the brightest bulb but he’s not foolish enough to think you’re anything like Lady, and you sure as hell ain’t Trish. He can’t get you up to their level any time soon, but he can make sure you’re equipped and trained so that worst comes to worst, you can keep yourself safe til he or the others get there. He doesn’t have anything in his collection suited for you—it’s all devil arms or guns fitted to his size—so he hits up one of Lady’s dealers just for you. If Nell were still around, he’d take the time to get you a custom piece, something weighted and fitted to your grip, but it’ll have to do. He gets you a nice little snubnosed revolver and sets aside a day to teach you, taking you downstairs to the makeshift shooting gallery he has in the basement.

You’ve never seen this part of the shop before—there are even more weapons strung up along the walls and it smells less like old pizza and more like smoke and gunpowder. Dante leads you to a table where your new revolver is laid out, cylinder open and unloaded.

“You ever use a gun before?” he asks. For once, he’s all serious, his usual playful air gone. You shrug.

“Not a lot,” you admit. “I know some basics and how to _not_ shoot myself.” That earns a soft chuckle from him.

“Well, that’s a start. If we’re lucky, you might just hit the target.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes before you get down to business, following along as he shows you how to load the revolver. He makes you repeat the task a few times for good measure, then brings you over to a strip of duct tape marking the floor.

“Alright, you want to get into the proper stance and hold it like so.” He maneuvers you into place, manipulating your hands until you have a solid grip on the gun. It feels weighty but not unwieldy, like it’s meant to be there. Or maybe it’s because Dante’s standing behind you, warm and supportive, easing your nerves.

“Now you want focus on the bullseye and let your dominant eye lead,” he instructs. “And once you think you’ve found it, take a few breaths to even out and give the trigger a nice squeeze.”

He expected you to be shaky, maybe squeamish, but you’re handling the gun just fine, following his guidance with startling ease. He sees your finger shift towards the trigger and a lightbulb goes off.

“Wait! Almost forgot something.”

Before you can glance over your shoulder, he claps something over your head—a set of bulky earmuffs.

“There we go. Don’t want you blowing your ears out on the first try.”

“What?”

“Nothing, just fire when ready, babe.” He steps back and for a moment you’re afraid, heart in your throat until you remind yourself to breathe. The earmuffs mask the din of the jukebox upstairs and the rattling of the water pipes. You zone out, the world fading away until you finally squeeze.

You feel the recoil and hear the gunshot as a muffled pop. That’s it. You blink and then spot the hole in the paper, a few inches south of the center but hey, it’s something.

Dante could practically hear your heart jump as the gun went off, see you startle back the slightest bit. Then your eyes light up and you glance at him—remembering to keep your finger off the trigger—and you give him a sunshine smile. It’s… _cute_. He’d never thought he’d find that kind of thing cute because in his experience, women with guns like to point them at his face. But, y’know, first time for everything. And not bad for a first shot.

He smiles and nods, waving you on. You fire off until it runs dry, forming a tight grouping that’s not quite center but good enough in his book, good enough to knock down a demon and that’s what counts. He lets you load up and go again, swapping out the targets for you. Rinse, repeat—it goes on til you’re jittery from the recoil and the adrenaline. You’re excited, getting a taste of the high he gets each time he plugs a demon.

Then, beneath the adrenaline, he catches the scent of a different kind of excitement. He takes a moment to look at you, examining how you hold the gun in your hands, the set of your jaw, the focus in your eyes, and he feels proud—that’s _his_ girl right there. You’re not Lady and you’re not Trish, but you’re you, shy and sweet with a wild side that begs to come out, calls to him like a siren.

When you run empty again he takes the gun and sets it aside, grabs the earmuffs and tosses those too. You realize what’s happening as he gathers you in his arms and slams you against the wall. He can smell how hot and bothered you’re getting, and it takes every ounce of control not to rip your clothing to shreds. He waits until you’ve got your bottoms off before he says fuck it and tears away your panties. You whimper and shudder as he rubs his cock along your slit before ramming in, bottoming out in your tight heat. You wind your fingers in his hair and hold on as he nuzzles you, crowding close and taking you against the cold concrete.

You’re his girl, soft and tight and feisty, and even as he fucks you, even knowing how hot it was seeing you shoot, he hopes you’ll never have to put those skills to use.

***

“Dante? You home?”

You wait for an answer, but it’s dead quiet. The lights and the sign are all on—he must have been called for a job, you think. Not unusual for this time of night. You just got off work; you could shower and change, and watch tv until he returns. A quick check of his desk shows he didn’t leave a note, so he probably won’t be gone long. You hope he won’t.

Something about the shop feels eerie in a way you can’t describe, but it sets off a deep instinctual dread. You look over your shoulder and see nothing; how could anyone have followed you without you hearing them? The confirmation only makes you feel worse about the shivers that run up your spine and the sinking feeling in your gut.

It’s then that you notice the familiar scent of old pizza and beer is gone and the air smells—it _tastes_ —like ashes and iron, subtle at first yet the longer you stand there the thicker it gets. It’s wrong, wrong, _wrong_ and you need to _leave_ you realize, turning on your heel, refusing to stay there another second.

A whisper of air brushes past you.

Suddenly creatures coalesce from nothingness, three of them popping up in a flash and surrounding you. Gaunt and covered in shriveled, rotted flesh, the hooded figures look like the grim reaper himself, wielding scythes that could cut you in half. One stands in front of you, blocking the door. It opens its mouth and lets out an inhuman sound, an echoing, shrieking death rattle.

All your life you’ve been afraid of chance, afraid of risk, afraid of the unknown. You’ve never known fear like this.

At the slightest movement, you stumble and fall back, narrowly dodging as they swing in synch, gouging the floorboards. One of them struggles as its scythe gets caught in the wood, and you manage to get to your feet and dive beneath the pool table for cover.

These things are demons. You’ve never seen one up close but it’s the only explanation and now you’re alone with three of them. The demon closest to you stalks towards the pool table. Oh shit, oh fuck, _holy fucking shit, you’re going to die_. You hunker in place, curling in on yourself and gasping for breath, panicked tears in your eyes as the terrifying reality of your situation hits you. You’re alone and defenseless and—

But you’re not.

You still have your bag clutched against your side and the snub tucked inside, you never leave without it, just like Dante told you. You rip open your bag and fumble around for the gun, hands shaking and heart racing. The demon’s legs are visible just beside the pool table, and you can hear its body creak as it rears up. You hunch over, gun in your hands as the demon swings, slicing clean through the table, blade cutting the slate with a loud c _hhck_.

The gun is already loaded, and you cock the hammer back with determination. The demon knocks aside the split pieces and it’s your golden opportunity. You aim for its chest and pull the trigger.

It feels like your ears have exploded.

It hurts and it shocks you more than the recoil. For a heartbeat you sit there, stunned, blinking up at the demon that falters and opens its mouth in a shriek that’s overcome by the ringing in your ears. Instinct kicks in a beat later and you pull the trigger, firing two more shots into its chest until it falls on its back.

There’s no time to check if it’s dead because another is coming towards you, forcing you to clamber up and away from the wreckage as it swings haphazardly. You urge yourself to breathe and focus but it’s so much harder now when faced with the real deal. You aim and fire, clipping the demon in the shoulder. You try again. This time you get it in the chest, but it keeps coming. You’re backing away and soon you’ll have nowhere to go. With an unsteady grip, you pull the trigger once more, missing completely. The third demon has stumbled over, joining its friend as they back you against the wall. You’re out of shots. Out of luck. One demon strikes and you manage to dodge a killing blow by diving to the side, but you’re not fast enough to stop it from slicing your leg, a thin red line forming on your calf. You scream, dropping the gun and clutching your wound.

The other demon raises its weapon, ready to finish you off.

This is it. This is where you die.

The front doors slam open, pieces of wood splintering off as a streak of red, orange, and black blurs past you, tackling the demon to the ground. You shield your face as you’re blasted by a wave of heat. When the dust settles, you look at your savior.

Standing above the demon is…another demon? The being is more human in shape, with red and black scaly plates covering its body. Spikes jut out at the shoulders and what look like horns sweep up and back from their face. Orange light radiates from the craggy center of their chest, and as they stretch out a set of menacing wings, you can see the same orange glow in scrawling lines and patterned swirls across them. Their eyes are like fire as they glare down at the reaper-esque demon, lips curling into a sneer and baring sharp teeth.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you it’s not nice to hit a lady?” The voice is dark and distorted but you’d recognize it anywhere.

“Dante?” you whisper, noticing the familiar sword strapped to the person’s back.

Dante grabs the demon by the throat and slams it against the wall once, twice, three times, then launches it at the other, the pair colliding and skidding halfway across the shop. He snarls, walking predatorily towards them as they awkwardly try to untangle themselves and stand.

“First you make me drag my ass out to the middle of nowhere,” he says, a deadly edge to his tone, “then you decide to crash my place and hurt my girl. If you aren’t the _dumbest_ assholes alive—"

He stomps on a demon as it tries to crawl out from underneath the other. He draws Rebellion and drives it down into the demon, pinning it to the floor and letting it writhe and wail until it finally dies. The other manages to get upright and swing at him. He grabs the handle of the scythe with one hand and the demon stands there, head tilting to the side in obvious confusion. A wicked grin stretches across his face, then he reaches and tears its whole arm off, scythe and all, blood and gore splattering everywhere. It croaks and wails, trying feebly to slash at him with its intact limb. He simply sidesteps it, chucks away the mangled arm and weapon, and plucks out Rebellion. With a roar he knocks the demon into the air in a single stroke, leaping up to hack and slash at it.

It falls to the ground in a bloody, minced up heap. He stands, huffing and growling lowly as he examines his grisly work, a distant look in his molten eyes.

You slowly sit up, wound forgotten. The weight of everything comes crashing down. Tears well up and your voice catches in your throat as you sob, “D-Dante?”

His gaze snaps to you, expression shifting to worry. Rebellion clatters to the ground and he takes a step towards you before stopping, hesitant. Somehow, you’re on your feet and you go running towards him—you don’t care about anything else right now, you just want _him_. You don’t even think about what the hell is going on with his body, it doesn’t register in your mind until you’re latching onto him, arms around his waist and getting a face full of his ample chest and feeling the odd texture of his skin.

It’s not hard like a brick wall like you expect; he’s kind of scaly but there’s still give to him, like there’s muscle and flesh beneath the plating. The glowing light hurts your eyes a little up close, but it doesn’t burn. No, he’s comfortably toasty, just more so than usual.

Dante shifts in your grasp before finally holding you, a clawed hand gently threading through your hair in soothing strokes while the other rubs circles on your back.

“Babe? Sweetheart?” he asks, voice nearly cracking and sounding pained even as distorted as it is. You look up, cheeks red and stained with tears as you continue to let out hiccupping sobs.

“I was so scared,” you admit with shuddering breaths. “I thought…I thought I was gonna die, that I was never gonna see you again.”

“I know, I know, babe. I came as fast as I could…” he trails off, glances at the damage to the pool table and squeezes you tighter, jaw clenching. He spots the demon you killed, and it takes the edge off his anger. “You got one?” He’s almost surprised but he shouldn’t be.

“Mhm.” You nod and gesture vaguely towards the gun. “Would’ve gotten another but I couldn’t aim for shit.”

And before you could let yourself dwell on that thought, he lifts you up and twirls you around, flashing you a smile of needly teeth. “Ha ha, that’s my girl!”

He kisses your cheek and sets you down. You step back, taking the time to really look at him. “So is this like…your demon half?” you ask. He shrugs.

“You could say that. This is what happens when I trigger—all that pent up devil energy comes out and makes me even more badass.” You trail your hands along his chest, tracing the glowing veins and running your palms over the expanse of plating. Dante watches you, brow furrowing as you feel him up. “You’re not scared?”

“No. Why would I be?”

He scoffs and shakes his head in disbelief, smiling nonetheless. “Any sane person would be.”

You smile. “If I were sane, I wouldn’t be dating you.”

He purses his lips, pretending to ponder your words. “Hmm…I don’t know. Pretty sure I wouldn’t date anyone who’s completely crazy.”

You chuckle and ignore him in favor of just touching him. Honestly, this form doesn’t really scare you, it’s kind of… _exciting_.

Dante lets you feel him up; it’s the least you deserve for getting attacked by a pack of Prides. He couldn’t help triggering. The moment he caught a whiff of demon on his way back from the job, all his rage boiled over in an instant. How dare they come to _his_ home, hurt _his_ mate—

Mate? Oh, now that was his devil side talking. It was rattling in his brain like a pinball when it should’ve calmed down by now. His trigger should’ve faded too. No, he’s still raring to go, still itching for, well, something. And it feels good holding you, letting you touch him in this form when he should be worried about pricking you with claws or spikes. There’s a happy, numbing buzz in the back of his head that he assumes is his devil having a good time, so, fuck it, enjoy it while it lasts and— _holy shit_ , touch that again.

You’re following the lines that curve down past where Dante’s pants should be when he lets out a rumbly sound, his chest vibrating. You stop, hands jerking away.

“Oh, sorr—”

He snatches your wrists and guides them back to where they were. “No, keep going,” he says in a low tone, eyes half lidded. You nod, swallowing thickly. As you return to your ministrations, you watch his expressions, noting the way he tenses and sucks in a breath as you follow the seam that leads down, down towards…

“Oh,” you mutter softly, cheeks turning red for a different reason as you put the pieces together and realize what this particular anatomy translates to in his human form.

You glance down to the obvious bulge in the plating where a dick should be, and gingerly place your hand over top. Dante licks his lips, looking at you with those fiery eyes. All of this isn’t so scary, you think. Dante has always felt safe to you, helping you in moments when you were scared or unsure of yourself. Even during that first fling, you couldn’t help but lay beside him and feel comfortable and welcome in that lonely stranger’s arms. The muddled, spicy scent you love about him is stronger like this too, muskier and enticing. You slip one wrist from his grasp and delicately stroke the spikes on his arm, then his hand, then finally taking one strong, beautiful, clawed hand in yours.

He could demolish you. You already knew that. He could cut you to ribbons with his bare hands. He wouldn’t. You already knew that too.

He’s ready to burst, hanging onto his self-control by a thread. When you give his hand a gentle squeeze, his heart caves, but it’s the teasing scent of your arousal that does him in, the knowledge that you want this.

Next thing you know he’s got you pinned to the wall, pressing his thigh between your legs to grind against your clothed pussy. You gasp and moan, rolling your hips to get more of that sweet friction. You cradle his face, avoiding the bony protrusions around his chin, and kiss him, fierce and desperate. He’s careful, too careful for your liking—the Dante you know bites your lips and tangles his tongue with yours. You take control, pressing your tongue into his mouth and he has no choice but to submit, jaw going slack so he doesn’t slice you with his teeth, though not without a rumble of protest. As you explore his mouth, you feel a slight prick and taste blood for an instant before it’s gone—no pain, just indescribable excitement and giddiness as the two of you tango. It riles him up, makes him grip your hips tighter and you feel that odd bulge of his pulse.

He separates and you gasp for air, glancing down. The seams around the plates are glowing now, splitting apart.

“You want it?” Dante asks. You nod and he guides your hand down to the seam, shifting his stance to give you better access. You trace the edge of it with your fingers and he full-body shivers, wings trembling as he pants and his head lulls back. “Fuck, that’s it. Now just…just pull that aside and it’ll do the rest.”

You obey, pulling the plates aside like pussy lips and his cock slips out, hard and weeping pre-cum. It’s not human—it’s covered in thin ridges the same color as his scales, separated by pulsing, dimly glowing veins, and topped with a flared head. You tentatively stroke him, feeling the weight of it in your palm and breathing a sigh of relief when you find out the ridges are softer, not as bony and rigid as the rest of him. And the _size_ , hot damn. He’s even longer and thicker than before, and the thought of having that inside you with that ribbing that’ll rub all that right places…oh yeah, you want this.

He’s played with himself in his triggered form, but he’s never had it out for anyone before. You’re not shying away though, oh no, you’re _loving_ it. Your eyes are wide and hungry, almost predatory, and he wonders if being with him has corrupted you or if you’ve always had this hidden kinky side. He’s leaking pre like a faucet as you stroke him, spreading it along his cock and fondling his sac and eroding any patience he has left.

“Hope you’re ready for me, babe,” he rasps. Dante shreds your clothes, moving too fast for you to argue but you don’t even care anymore. He hoists you up, keeping you there with one arm so he can reach down and feel along your slit, being mindful of his claws.

You’re wet for him, but he’s not sure it’s enough—he doesn’t want to break you. So he nestles his cock between your nether lips and thrusts, coating it in his thick pre-cum and stimulating your clit. You whine like a bitch in heat, weak human nails digging into his shoulders as you beg for him. His dicks throbs and you squirm, trying to bring him closer.

“Please! Just—just give it to me already!” you cry, giving him that face that gets him every time.

“Alright, sweetheart.” He lines himself up, glancing down to make sure before locking eyes with you. “If it hurts…scream or tell me to stop, okay?” It’s the last moment of clarity his demon will allow. Then he grabs your hips and you put your legs around him and he finally, _finally_ pushes in.

As he sinks in about halfway it starts to hurt, not enough to make you want to stop but still enough to make you close your eyes and grit your teeth. It feels like forever before he bottoms out, scaly hips scraping against your ass. He rumbles, something like a purr vibrating through him and you. You open your eyes, looking down to see how absolutely stretched open you are. You feel stuffed, engulfed by the heat of his body and the thick cock inside you. You feel strangely exposed and vulnerable in spite of the many times Dante’s taken you.

“M-move…” you whimper. He huffs, hot breath fanning across your chest.

He pulls out, leaving you painfully empty for a second of eternity, and then rams back in.

You see stars, crying out and scrabbling for purchase. You can feel each bump and ridge on his cock, and it hits places you didn’t even know existed. He grins at you, claws prickling your skin as he suddenly goes to town, bouncing you up and down like a cocksleeve. You curl into him, holding onto him like a lifeline against the onslaught of pleasure.

“Jesus, fu—Dante~!”

Being inside you like this is a whole new experience, stretched tight around him while his cock is unbearably sensitive, like there’s no end between you and him and you’re perfectly joined together. Open-mouthed cries and gasps and moans escape you and his demon roars, clawing to the forefront of his mind. The heady smell of your arousal and pheromones drowns out the blood and viscera still painted across the shop. He winds a hand in your hair and presses your foreheads together. You lean into his touch, whimpering softly, and he can’t help but smile.

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he says. “You took out a Pride on your own, almost got a second…you deserve this. Gonna…gonna make you cum so much. Gonna make you cum til ya can’t walk.”

He’s always had impossible stamina but it’s insane the way he’s fucking you. It’s not long before you’re cumming, squirting all over his dick. He keeps going, and it’s made all the more torturous by the ribbing that overstimulates your g-spot to hell and back and the way his scales brush against your clit.

Dante almost collapses, nearly goes weak-kneed from how your walls clench around him. There’s good sex and then there’s this, the kind of shit he never imagined doing with anyone. Hell, he thought he’d never have a relationship. It shouldn’t be real, yet it is. He watches your tits bounce and your face contort in pleasure, and that dark voice that creeps into his nightmares says he doesn’t deserve you. And his demon roars back twice as loud, echoing in his mind something that isn’t words but raw, unfettered emotions that spill out as a single desperate, “I love you.”

Did he—? He did. He’s never—he does? He…he _does_. It shouldn’t come as a shock to you, but it’s been half a year and while he’s quick with a flirty quip or physical affection he doesn’t _say_ that kind of thing. Tears of a different kind spring forth and maybe it’s because of everything else that’s happened tonight compounding with the confession, but you’re so overwhelmed in an exhausted, happy way that you can’t help it. You sniffle, trying to cradle his face and kiss him and missing because of his rocking thrusts. All you can do is nuzzle him, whispering, “I love you too.”

You’re crying again. You’re smiling and you love him back but you’re crying, and his demon half decides that the only way to remedy that is to fuck you _harder_ , take you until you can’t think of anything else and you’re spent and content. He has to be a good mate for you.

He pulls out, making you sob, and he rumbles soothingly, reflexively. He presses your legs against you, folding you in half and holding you up through sheer strength and dexterity. You cry out as he enters you again, hitting your cervix. You brace your hands on his shoulders as he leans close, licking your tears away. Desperate moans fall from your lips once more, sating the devil in him.

The two of you stay like that for a while, until he notices the streak of red on your leg and slows his thrusts, brow furrowing.

“You’re hurt.” Stupid. _Stupid_. He bares his teeth in a snarl—if he could he’d raise the Prides from the dead just to kill them again, slowly this time. You seem surprised though, as if it had completely slipped your mind.

“It’s okay,” you assure him. “It doesn’t hurt.” He looks at you doubtfully. “I mean it. And besides…” You sheepishly look away. “I don’t want you to stop.”

God, you’ll be the death of him. But it’ll be a good death.

The devil in him is still pissed though, and he has to stop himself from breaking you as he holds you tight and pistons his cock inside you, returning to his original plan of fucking you til you can’t think.

“Tear their throats out,” he growls, nuzzling your hair and cheek, trying to lose himself in your scent and the knowledge that you’re here in his arms. His voice grows deeper, more distorted. “Make them pay. Gonna fill you up, breed you, **show them you’re mine**. **They won’t ever touch you, never again**.”

You should be scared, terrified, but this is Dante. Call you a freak but you love this, love the fierceness in his words and the look in his eyes, love how he could destroy you yet holds you so tenderly in spite of his size and all his edges. This demon stuff is simply another piece of his puzzle, a part of the whole that you love completely and deeply. And maybe it’s kinda hot seeing him fight. And maybe you like being stuffed with a big monster cock. Duality of man and all that jazz.

You come two more times, pressed to the wall, slick dripping down his cock and your ass. You arch against him, overstimulated and overwhelmed, your pleas for relief turning into incoherent mewling. After what feels like hours, he holds you down on his dick, grunting as it pulses inside you and fills you with his seed. There’s so damn much you can feel it as it overflows, leaking out from your abused pussy.

A moment passes and Dante is engulfed in a flash of light, and suddenly he’s human again, panting and still balls deep inside you. He slips out, a sticky glob of cum spilling out as well and hitting the floor; you both make a face. He gingerly kneels to set you on the floor, letting you sit and rest. You realize with a twinge of envy that he’s still fully clothed except for his junk hanging out. He has the decency to look embarrassed as he tucks it away and plops down beside you, backs to the wall. You’re going to be sore in the morning, but at least the cut on your leg is little more than a dull sting.

“So…you ever, uh, do that before?” You ask, unsure what to say.

“No, not really.” Dante looks at you, and you can’t bring yourself to do more than give him a sideways glance because looking him in the eye after everything that’s happened is, well, a lot. “Hate to be the serious one for once but are you okay?” he asks. When you don’t answer right away, he nudges you with his elbow. “Babe?”

You look at him. He’s not angry or sad or even disappointed, but there’s a worry there that’s so foreign on his features. You take his hand, lacing your fingers with his. “I’m okay. Shook up, but okay.”

The place is a wreck—the pool table is in busted halves and there are gashes in the wood floor, and while the demon remains are halfway crumbled into dust, you’re wondering how hard it’ll be to clean up. You’re alive though, thanks to him. The snub is somewhere in all the mess and you suppose you’ll have to thank him for that too, for giving it and teaching you. Dante gazes at the damage and you know he’s running the numbers, calculating the money it’ll take to replace and fix everything. Silence stretches out between you, and eventually you start to feel tired like you’re going to fall asleep sitting up.

“Hey,” Dante pipes up, “you want to move in together?”

“What?” Your head turns so fast you give yourself whiplash, heart punching your chest because this is the last thing you expect.

“Not because I think you can’t handle yourself!” Dante rushes out, hands coming up in case you whack him. “But because…” He trails off, looking away. He anxiously rubs his neck and lets out a sigh that ages him by decades. “I meant what I said, about loving you. And it sucks when you’re not around.”

You stare at each other. There’s a lot more that he wants to say, shit he doesn’t really have the words for, but he hopes you understand. You smile, and it looks like you’re about to cry when you throw your arms around him and nestle into his lap.

“Of course, you big dumbass,” you reply. You kiss him silly, until you’re both dizzy and breathless. When you pull apart, you gaze around the shop, smiling wryly. “After we fix the shop, that is.”


End file.
